In Whisky Veritas
by Seldarius
Summary: What is a modern woman to do when the man she'd hoped to bed gets knocked out cold? Well, bring him to her bed anyway, of course...


**I know there are already some versions of this scene flying around and I generally try to stick to one project at a time - but I had to get this out of my system in the hope of releasing my writer's block on the Kurrajong front. It's been a middle-of the night sitting with some Whisky involved, so I apologize in advance for the probably numerous mistakes I'll find tomorrow.  
**

Miss Fisher had to grumpily admit that it hadn't been a particularly successful night so far. The escape of a suspect she could suffer without too much damage to her Detective's pride. After all someone working for a magician doing a disappearance act seemed somewhat natural. Less easy to accept was that she had stood up Jack yet again while thoughtlessly exposing him to her Father's belongings and a fair amount of alcohol, which together had mixed into a jealous outburst that wasn't quite the form of passion she had intended to ignite in him tonight.

Which still wouldn't have been too horrible had he not in his fit of passion decided to empty her father's nerve tonic before storming out of her house. At this stage it had dawned on her that this was not going to be the night she had hoped for, but then there would have probably still been time to at least explain and reschedule. Maybe, possibly there could have even been the chance of a sneaky kiss. And for a brief, awkward moment as she'd reached him on his way out the door, she had almost thought he might consider just that. Before he had folded up at her feet with not so much as a sound. Now she stood, staring in shocked annoyance at the incredibly friendly face of her father. She had to face the fact - the night was an absolute disaster.

"I forgot my nerve tonic," he explained without any thought to the man he had just knocked out cold with the edge of the door.

"Don't worry, it hasn't gone to waste," Phryne explained between clenched teeth, while crouching down beside the unconscious Inspector and searching for a sign of breathing. Thank God his chest rose a moment later.

"What happened to it?" her father's voice asked behind her, holding a decidedly empty glass between his fingers, then stared at the sleeping man. "Oh."

"I'd appreciate if you didn't leave your belonging all over the house," Phryne said without turning. "People could get hurt."

She swallowed down any words about 'damned cravats'. She was angry enough as it was. Jack still wasn't stirring. She suspected that the chances of him waking from the hit to the head before the tonic did it's magic, were on the slim side. Which left only one solution.

"Mr. Butler?"

The head was stuck through the gap in the door with only a second's delay.

"The Inspector suffered a slight mishap. Would you please help me carry him up the stairs?"

Jack's lifeless frame turned out much heavier than Phryne had anticipated and her father had to assist them with dragging him up the steep staircase. A vase with flowers went tumbling as they brushed past it, but nobody could bother to pay any mind to it.

"To my bedroom," Phryne puffed, with her hand wrapped around Jack's bizeps. Her father made a strange noise that could have meant disapproval.

"Phryne, Dear, even you can't hope to get anything out of the man tonight. Not if he drank my nerve tonic."

Miss Fisher just barely resisted the urge to strangle Henry, mostly because her hands where still busy keeping Jack from tumbling down the stairs.

"I harbour no hopes of the kind, Father. But may I remind you that you have cluttered up both of my guest rooms? And it seems hardly appropriate to put him in Jane's bed, where, however, _I_ intend to spend the night."

That was the truth if possible not the whole story. While her daughter was abroad, she would understand Phryne's need to borrow her bed. Sleeping beside an unconscious Jack was certainly not an option, despite a tiny little niggling voice that seemed to find the idea tempting.

"How very proper of you, Dear."

She scowled briefly at her Father but the strange procession arrived at her door before she could come up with a fitting answer. It was probably for the better. Phryne had long since realised that snapping at her father had no other effect than frustrating her by his lack of response. He seemed to be blessed with an incredible ignorance of negative human emotion, especially when directed at him.

Huffing and puffing the small group approached the bed and Jack's body fell like a sack of potatoes onto the sheet, bouncing once for good measure. Miss Fisher took a moment to catch her breath.

"You'd better get him out of that suit, Dear," Henry grinned from the door. "It will most certainly crease."

"Thank you, Father, we will take it from here," she explained with forced calmness and slammed the door shut in his face. Mr. Butler's catching his breath was the only sound for a long moment.

"I believe I possess a pair of pyjamas that might fit the Inspector," he offered.

"Thank you, Mr. B."

While he bustled away, Phryne sank onto the edge of the bed, wondering how to pass the time until he returned. Jack looked rather peaceful at this stage but that wouldn't last into the morning. She wasn't certain how many drinks he'd had but the collection of empty glasses had spoken a rather clear language on that account and so had his little speech. She'd never seen an emotional outburst like this in him. In fact, mostly his iron self-control drove her to distraction as it made it impossible to know what was going on in his head. Tonight he'd let her know in unmistakable terms. He had been bursting of frustration and jealousy and she couldn't help but smile at it in retrospect. Jealous of her male house guest. What a silly thought. And one easily explained away if he'd given her enough time to get a word in edgewise.

Now, however, he was utterly quiet and she couldn't resist the urge to run her hand through his hair. He sighed in his sleep and she quickly withdrew her fingers. They were still buzzing with the sensation. Phryne glanced at the door. Obviously Mr. Butler had to search for said pyjamas. She might as well begin undressing the Inspector. After all he had to be undressed.

There might have been some less practical reasons. Perhaps she was a little curious as to what she would find underneath his propriety uniform. Granted, she had hoped that would happen in a slightly more... erotic discovery tour, but a woman dealt with the cards she was given.

Carefully she loosened his tie, waiting for another sound of protest from the sleeping Inspector but there was none. His vest was next, falling aside soundlessly. Gently she opened his suspenders, a task not completely free from implication. There might have even been the slightest of trembles to her fingers when she released the first button of his shirtsleeves and even a spell of hesitance. Sucking a deep breath into her lungs Phryne began to open his shirt and retreated in surprise. No undershirt. She hadn't expected such a liberty from the most proper of men. But then Jack had proven to be a dark horse in many ways.

Carefully she continued her task, revealed a chest that hadn't seen much sunlight, a sprinkling of soft curls, ribs that showed his lack of regular meals. She resisted the desire to touch him and instead continued her work.

A bump that had to be a scar caught her attention for a brief moment before she was sidetracked by his nipples hardening at the sudden brush of cool air. She swallowed dryly. Lusting over the Inspector while he was in no state to reciprocate any advances would certainly not do. She rose to undress his feet, a completely unerotic task as she was able to convince herself. The old brown shoes clattered to the floor with little resistance, revealing his sock-clad toes. The slight smell of sweat after a long day of policing should probably have deterred her but funnily it didn't dampen her enthusiasm at all. The socks followed the shoes onto the floor. Which meant she now had only his pants left to undo before she needed Mr. Butler's help. Why exactly her heart was beating faster at the thought she couldn't have said. She'd undressed a fair amount of men over the years.

"I am not one of them and I never will be," his voice echoed in her ears. "Even if you want me to be."

What a hideous thought, she huffed, while she reached for his waistband. Surely he couldn't have missed that she was more than compelled to settle for a single police officer in her bed – quite literally as it happened at this current point in time.

But then it was hard to argue with the raw emotion she had seen and more importantly heard, tonight. As the old Romans had said, in wine there is truth. And the Inspector's truth was of a rather heated nature and could also be compelled by whisky.

She made short process of his pants, unbuttoned them with as little ceremony as possible and was almost relieved when she found crisp, white cotton underneath. She didn't touch his undergarments. There was curiosity and then there was intrusion. But her eyes rested for a long moment on what she had been hoping to discover tonight under very different circumstances. So, it was definitely worth the wait. She smiled just when a knock came to the door.

"I apologise, Miss, I couldn't find them immediately."

"No trouble, Mr. B. I've began with the undressing. If you'd be so kind as to lift his torso."

With joined forces it was barely a minute's work to rid Jack Robinson of the remainder of his clothes.

"Miss, maybe..."

The Butler trailed off, but Phryne understood.

"You are right, of course," she explained, getting to her feet. "I'm sure he would prefer you to help him into his night time garments. And would you please take care of his suit?"

Mr. Butler agreed and Phryne continued to clutter around in the room, collecting her necessities for the night and morning. But finally it was time to bid both men goodnight. The Inspector now wore a dark blue silk pyjama and was wrapped into her blanket. Phryne felt her heart flutter in her chest at the sight. Briefly she considered to ask Mr. Butler not to strip her bed in the morning before the realisation came to her that she was behaving like a lovestruck fool.

"Goodnight, Mr. B."

"Goodnight, Miss Fisher."

The Butler yawned while he switched of the light.

"Goodnight, Jack," Phryne said quietly as she followed the servant out of the room. The Inspector didn't answer. But possibly there might have been the briefest flutter of his lashes.


End file.
